


Prompt #004 Desire

by kurgaya



Series: Divine Footsteps [32]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Translation Available, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurgaya/pseuds/kurgaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You don't have any charm."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt #004 Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Зарисовка #004 Желание](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275406) by [a_m](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_m/pseuds/a_m)



> Literally just post-sex fluff. What more could you want?

**Murmur**

“I’m not going to move for a week,” Ichigo grumbles into the pillow. The molten gold of his hair is tickling his cheek, but his limbs cannot find the energy to shift the inches it would take to unwind his arm from the pillows and brush the strands away. The dance of his heart is slowing and his breathing is deep, mellow, and delighted. Mere centimetres away the pale form of his partner’s glow rolls over; the duvet slides with him, a gentle hand teasing his undress. Ichigo smiles into the crumpled support of his pillow.

“Pity,” murmurs Tōshirō, tucking the fiery hair away to smile at the marvel his partner’s gaze. The captain sounds anything but disheartened at the idea of lying in their bed forever, and the light in his affectionate expression makes Ichigo laugh softly. Tempting his body to move, he glides a hand down the curve of Tōshirō’s back until his tingling fingertips uncover an expanse of skin that they yearn to trace. There he rubs tiny circles of his desire; spontaneously, as was habit.

Tōshirō drapes an arm over Ichigo’s waist and tucks the other by the tangle of fine melted snow plastered across the sheets. Endlessly loving Tōshirō’s skin, the younger, marginally more reckless captain liberates his free hand from where his heaving chest has trapped it and catches the smaller one in its sweaty, familiar snare.

The Tenth Division captain rolls his eyes fondly. “I received a letter from my grandmother today, did I tell you?”

“I’m not really sure this is the best place to talk about your grandmother,” Ichigo teases. He winds their fingers and toes together as if to prove the point, though there is little to hide the vulnerability of their satisfied bodies from sight. The duvet is clinging to Tōshirō’s ankles and their clothes are scattered. The emerald yukata the shorter captain had donned that evening is bunched up at the end of the bed, an exhausted contributor to their pleasure.

The responding tut is so predictable that he unconsciously mimics it. His shameless grin inspires an exasperated glare from the icy shinigami, but it simply makes him laugh.

“My grandmother raised a captain and a lieutenant,” Tōshirō corrects after he realises Ichigo’s ecstasy isn’t going to fade any time soon. Yet he is entertained as he speaks, which is counted as a victory by his lover. “She would hardly be fazed, I assure you.”

“I’ll tell her that when I write a reply,” Ichigo declares, dipping forward to kiss the forehead tucked by his chin. “Go on then – what did she say?”

Tōshirō hums, charmed by his partner’s audacity. “She’s thankful for book you sent her – she says she reads it every night before going to sleep – and that the next time you’re wandering around Junrinan she’s got something to give you.”

“Oh?”

“She didn’t specify what,” continues the captain, reaching up again to brush Ichigo’s hair away. “I imagine it’s something sweet – grandmothers instinctively enjoy forcing baskets of food onto people.”

“ _What big teeth you have_ ,” the ginger mutters. Tōshirō takes a second to appreciate the comment, but when he does he rewards Ichigo with a playful, scolding nudge. This only entices the larger male to roll them over; Tōshirō flounders unattractively as their elbows and knees knock together, but laughter resounds around the room even as the duvet flops off the side of the bed in a dejected heap.

“ _What big eyes you have_ ,” Ichigo says, huffing Tōshirō’s hair from his face. Flattened on top of him in a loose, fortress hold, the Tenth Division captain smacks his lips together.

“You’re hilarious,” is the deadpan reply.

Ichigo grins and links his hands together in the small of his lover’s back. He considers resting them a tad lower but he’s ninety-nine per cent certain that would end up with his showering alone once they eventually tumbled out of bed the next morning. “I know right?”

Tōshirō shakes his head into Ichigo’s collar bone. “Granny adores you, I don’t know why.”

“It’s my charm.”

“You don’t have any charm.”

“Got you into my bed didn’t I?”

Tōshirō laughs at that, an untroubled, uninhibited sound. “I think you’ll find I _let_ you into _my_ bed.”

“Oh yes,” says Ichigo cheerfully, glad that only the ceiling can see the abominably affectionate expression on his face. “My mistake. How could I ever forget that little detail?”

The other mutters something under his breath. Though he doesn’t have ultrasensitive hearing, Ichigo can take an educated guess at the mocking sarcasm underlining Tōshirō’s tone. He laughs and closes his eyes, returning to his unconscious art of drawing patterns with his fingertips.

“Thanks,” Ichigo breathes.

Tōshirō sighs happily.


End file.
